The great canal between Forth and Clyde passes through the south part of the parish. It is carried over the river Kelvin by a stately aqueduct bridge, planned by Mr Whitworth and executed by Mr Gibb. The foundation of the bridge was laid June 15 1787, and it was finished in June 1790. The length is 350 ft, the breadth 37, of which the canal occupies 271/2, and the height, from the surface of the river to the top of the parapet wall 57. It stands upon 4 arches each 50ft wide, and 37 high.
Reverent Mr George Sym
Statistical Account of Scotland
1794
In Jimmy's absence last week, the bus-pass brigade hatched a plot. We would travel for our day's outing and Christmas curry by bus. This was not at all to Jimmy's liking and he made his opinion clear. Davie and Robert agreed and the rest fell into line. That soon put a stop to this nonsense. Nine of us would now travel to Glasgow by car for our outing today and Peter would join us later.
Not surprisingly, given the collective nature of our group, we parked the cars in the same place in Kelvingrove to take the same walk as last Christmas before moving on to the same curry house for Christmas lunch. We really aught to get out more!
The weatherman predicted rain in the early afternoon so a decision was taken to walk outward for an hour, take a quick coffee and see if we could beat the rain to the cars. Robert led us down to the banks of the Kelvin and we turned upstream following the Kelvin walkway. We stopped under Kirklee Bridge (1899-1901) to examine it. We were impressed by the basic red sandstone construction of the arches but even more so by the Glasgow coat of arms, carved from the same material, that add adornment to the spandrels, and the pink granite columns at each pillar. The balustrade on top is made of the same material as the columns and adds lightness to the overall design. Altogether a most imposing structure. They certainly knew how to do things in Victorian times, cheap labour and the spoils of the Empire pr
oviding the where-with-all for such opulence.
The next bridge on the river is the canal aqueduct. This is where we left the Kelvin walkway and took to the canal towpath. As can be seen from Mr. Sym's comments above, the crossing of the Kelvin was remarkable achievement of the first transport revolution and we stopped on top to admire the skill of the engineers. Then we turned westward over the aqueduct and continued our walk along the canal bank.
An hour walked and there was a shout from the rear for coffee. We halted beside a lock and, for some reason chose to have coffee standing up.
Where the coffee was taken could not be said for certain for even he who knows such things was slightly disoriented in the built environment. We were not alone on the canal towpath. Since leaving the aqueduct, we had been passed by a series of joggers, cyclists, walkers and women with pushchairs. During coffee, an older man who looked as though he knew a thing or two approached us. Davie thought he would find out exactly where we were.
'Where exactly are we?' he asked.
'We-e-e-ell' said the sage.
Davie offered some assistance. 'Is that Drumchapel?' he prompted.
'Ye could say that, it's nearly'.
'Or is it Anniesland?' asked the inquisitor.
'It's nearly that as well. That's where I'm going.' replied the oldster and left us in our ignorance.
So, somewhere near Drumchapel or Anniesland or somewhere else, we had coffee.
After coffee and 'yer 'fishal photie', we returned along the canal to the Kelvin. A flock of mixed thrushes, fieldfare and redwing amused the birders by hedgehopping in front of us and duck, tufties and mallard, floated on the canal. We reached the aqueduct and Alan leaned over to look at the river below. It was he who spotted the cormorants, ten of them perched on the remains of bridge pillars. We all had a look over the side then and realised, again what an incredible engineering feat this aqueduct was.
Another engineering feat lies barely a hundred metres eastward of the Aqueduct, the Maryhill Locks, lifting the canal to a higher level. This was our direction now, with Port Dundas the destination. The rain came, gentle at first but getting steadily heavier. And through the increasing wetness, we walked towards Port Dundas.
We never made Port Dundas. The rain was set in for the day. Davie made a unilateral decision to return much to the disappointment of Rex who, for some reason wanted to visit the end of the canal. However, back we came.
The rain was wetting and the pace was upped accordingly. More than once Robert could be heard complaining from the rear about not being able to keep up the pace. But the fast ones at the front were deaf to his pleas and pushed on. Back behind Firhill we came and down to Maryhill Road: then behind a primary school practising Christmas activities and on to Queen Margaret Drive: across the road and down to the Kelvin again and at last, the pace relented. Davie took the steps into the botanic gardens and we followed but at a much slower rate now. We came through the gardens and arrived at the cars around 2:00, wet and dishevelled. We hadn't beaten the rain.
Most got changed into dry gear for lunch at the Ashoka, most because Johnny and Allan had left Irvine expecting us to take the bus so carried the minimum of gear. They sat damp for lunch. Peter was found on Byres Road, having done what he had to do, and the ten of us made our way to the Ashoka.
The Christmas curry was good, better than last year when we used the 'schule-dinner trays', and we spent an hour or two in eating, drinking and convivial banter. At the end of the meal, Jimmy was presented with a bottle of Glenlivet in thanks for his efforts on these Annals. 'Unexpected, unnecessary but not unappreciated' were his comments. He will drink a health to us all when he opens it.
